Praise for Fiona McArthur and her fabulous Lyrebird Lake Maternity mini-series:
‘Ms McArthur has created a series that is powerfully
moving and yet filled with characters that could be any other member of your family because they’re down-to-earth people who are just human like everyone else. Thank you, Ms McArthur, for a thoroughly enjoyable time spent in your world of Lyrebird Lake.’
—Cataromance.com
He’d done okay today, thanks mostly to Bonnie, but how to live with the crushing guilt of his delay in response?
It had happened in his first emergency after Clara died. His colleagues had told him it was only natural, to give himself time, but he’d backed away in horror. A man not to be trusted. A doctor unable to deal with emergencies. A man ashamed of a vocation that had been his life.
So he had run to Bali.
Avoided any contact with medicine. And drifted. Drifted until a determined little midwife had dragged him into the very situation he’d been running from …
About the Author
A mother to five sons, FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Medical™ Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! Now that her boys are older, Fiona and her husband Ian are off to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com
Recent titles by the same author:
MIDWIFE, MOTHER … ITALIAN’S WIFE*
MIDWIFE IN THE FAMILY WAY* THE MIDWIFE AND THE MILLIONAIRE MIDWIFE IN A MILLION
* Lyrebird Lake Maternity
Dear Reader
I was fortunate enough to visit Bali earlier this year with a friend—another midwife—and we savoured the Balinese kindness and genuine pride in their customs and country. We rode bicycles down a volcano, attended Balinese cooking classes, visited the Bumi Sehat Birth Centre in Ubud, and learnt some of the customs around birth and childhood in Bali.
I really wanted to share some of the joy of these wonderful people, and so does my hero Harry St Clair—a man hiding from himself in Bali.
In March I visited Alice Springs, Kings Canyon and Ayers Rock with my middle son Andrew. We hired an off-road vehicle and hit the red dust with a vengeance. Luckily he’s a diesel mechanic, and fixed that flat tyre in no time. I just kept typing. The scenery and the sky and the vast distances were awe-inspiring.
Enter Bonnie McKenzie, midwife and Outback community nurse, who’s flown up to Bali from Darwin on a brief holiday. Bonnie is a straight-talker, not in the market for a man, but even she can see there’s simmering sensual tension under the surface when she meets Harry. As for Harry—he doesn’t know what’s hit him.
When Bonnie leaves for Central Australia a week later Harry has to follow. Maybe he could just dip his toe in the real world again? But Ayers Rock and the rugged Australian Outback don’t believe in half-measures, and in all its stark beauty the red centre does the rest. Welcome to Harry and Bonnie’s world.
Warmest wishes for your trip in the Outback!
Fiona
HARRY ST CLAIR: ROGUE OR DOCTOR?
FIONA McARTHUR
To Lesley, who makes me smile,
Vicki, who smiles as well, and Margo, from all those years ago.
All friends who shared Bali with me.
And my son Andrew, who changed that tyre
in the desert on the way to Ayers Rock and shared the magic of the red centre with me.
And always Ian, my own rock.
Happy thirtieth anniversary, my love.
CHAPTER ONE
SUNSET. Glorious Bali Island.
Harry St Clair glanced around the hotel swimming pool and grimaced. His usual calm deserted him just thinking of going back to Australia and the practice of medicine. To make it worse he was half an hour early to tell them it wasn’t happening.
The pool chairs were littered with tourists sipping cocktails while waiting for sunset and he was careful not to catch the eye of any of them, especially the women, as he scanned for the man who’d arranged to meet him. Now was not the time for dalliance.
Bonnie McKenzie watched him arrive. All the women did. When he approached the pool the ladies’ necks stretched like those of inquisitive turtles to follow his broad shoulders, and she rolled her eyes. She could hear Sacha, in the chair next to her, whisper to Jacinta, and she hoped the words didn’t carry to where he stood.
‘They call him the package. ‘Cause he looks good, talks good and I’ll bet my new black bikini he feels good. But he’s a heartbreaker. Tells all the women he’s not into relationships.’ Jacinta sighed dreamily as her friend went on. ‘He’s not staying at the hotel. I asked the waitress. He’s here to see someone.’
To Bonnie the man didn’t look like a package. He looked like an isolated lighthouse off the coast of Wales that she’d once seen on television.
Alone, surrounded by jagged rocks, immovable in any storm as he waited, protected by a wall of sceptical disinterest in everyone until an older woman in a ceremonial sarong tapped him on the arm and he smiled. Then everything changed.
Then there was something about the tilt of his head and warm greeting as he responded to the Balinese lady with such kindness, such honest charm, it called even to Bonnie—which surprised her, because since selling her engagement ring she’d vowed she’d never be that receptive to a man again.
Good genes, her gran would have said. Bonnie found herself thinking, Good jeans, and she looked away and pressed her lips together to hold the smile in. These young midwives she’d travelled with from Darwin were a bad influence.
She looked back, fairly sure he couldn’t see her under the shadow of her umbrella’d deckchair. He was talking to a man now, shaking his head at the elderly sunburnt tourist she’d seen around the hotel, but her eyes were drawn back to the younger one.
There, good lighthouse, a beam of radiance as the man beside him made him smile, and again, when he lifted one strong hand and shook the other man’s hand. So he could soften and, yes, Bonnie could see why the girls felt the need to discuss him.
Now he looked casual and relaxed, lazily footloose in his cut-off blue jeans, his long brown legs testament to some sporting pursuit that kept him fit. Being footloose and declaring it seemed imminently sensible for him, and much better than stomping on hearts to scale the heights of a profession, like some Bonnie knew.
She could see this man’s loosely buttoned sports shirt fought a losing battle if it wanted to disguise the width of his shoulders or the leanly muscular biceps that peeked out of the short sleeves. Not something that usually fascinated her, leanly muscular men, but those arms teased her now, corded with strength and